


supply and demand

by frostedlipstick



Category: Punk Rock RPF, Rock Music RPF, The Germs (Band)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, request fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 06:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10299416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostedlipstick/pseuds/frostedlipstick
Summary: The backstage is always a few types of disgusting.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry mom. And Pat as well?
> 
>  _Technically_ a request fic. Written in a fevered rush at 2AM. Based on many late-night talks with my BFF, along with [this.](http://patsmearphotobombing.tumblr.com/post/148519375702/whatwecalledlearning-joan-jett-pat)
> 
> Also, I have shaky knowledge of how the inner circle of the band worked, or how this gig/venue - the June 1977 Whiskey A Go-Go show - was aside from my iPod's album and some Google-fu, so I apologize for any mistakes!

The backstage is always a few types of disgusting. Pat’s sneakers gummed to the floor as he tried to squeeze past the ebbing throng of Circle One, the neck of his guitar gripped tightly in his aching hand. The place stank of chain-smokers and perfume and sticky teenagers, and he could hear Lorna asking if anyone’s seen her jacket. He didn’t know where their drummer was, he didn’t even know their drummer’s name since they’d had so many in the span of a few months. Darby was sat against the wall on an old speaker, looking like he was about to fall off it if he slumped down any further. A few girls clustered around him, cooing in concern. He waved his hand around to shoo them away, naked chest twisting as he sulked against the graffiti. Pat raised his eyebrows.

“Everybody fuck off now. _Go_.” Darby announced, just loud enough for the room to hear. When nobody moved, he yelled “Go!” A murmur rose up as everybody began to pile out the exit, Lorna coming over to stand next to Pat as the three of them watched the mass congregation to the cloying June evening.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow,” Pat heard Lorna say.

“Sure,” he replied. “See you later.” The words came out stiff. He chalked it up to post-show daze, ignoring the growing tingling in his lower body. She grabbed her jacket and bass case, strutting out the room. They heard the main entrance door swing shut with a bang.

The entire venue suddenly seemed uncomfortably silent. There were a few people still packing up on the stage down the corridor. Pat knew what was coming next. He pulled Darby to his feet, ignoring his whines, and leaned back against the wall with his wrists in his hands. Darby's hair is sticking up, held in place by sweat.

The strip lights above them keep flickering. Pat feels like he could choke on how thick the air is, the wall vent clearly having given up as he hears it sputter and cough. Then -- "We could fuck in here," Darby mumbles. His voice rises a little. " _C'mon_ , Pat, let's -- I wanna fuck."

"In the backstage of the Whiskey? You're so fucking slutty and fucking -- _needy_ ," Pat says, pressing a sudden kiss to Darby's jaw. "The girls at the front of the stage were breaking their necks to get to you during that show. Not that you were trying to stop them." He hides a smile in the crook of his neck as he feels Darby bristle,clammy hands tightening around his wrists. "I'm kind of sad. I thought I meant more to you." His voice is positively sugary. And then there's the hand on the back of Darby's scrubbed black hair and Pat is pushing him down, down, down to his knees, right onto the sticky floorboards coated with beer and sweat and gum.

They'd never progressed past fast handjobs behind buildings or crawling through each other's windows at night and making out. Sappy teenage shit. Pat tried to scramble his brain into place. A blowjob seemed quite new.

"I want you to come on my face," Darby blurts suddenly. Pat blinked at him. "Please!" Darby says, voice low and growling and desperate. When Pat still doesn't move, acting deliberately nonchalant to annoy him, Darby whines and tears at his belt, pulling it loose as he unzips his jeans. Pat lets out a low groan of " _Fuck._ " when Darby gets his hand around his cock, stroking in a quick rhythm. Pat knots a hand in his hair, replacing Darby's hand with his own as he keeps his head back. He's masturbated to the thought of this before -- big eyes, half-open mouth, wanton expression. His hips jerk as Darby licks over the head, drool coating his chin as he drags his tongue over Pat's fingers and shaft and balls and Pat bangs his head back against the wall and he feels like he's experiencing a fever because shit, it's _good_ , it's real fucking good having Darby down at his mercy like this, just like he imagined.

It doesn't take much after that. He pulls Darby's head back and after three quick strokes he cums, legs shaking and lungs heaving. Darby winces as he feels Pat's cum hit his face, tongue pressed up against the base of his cock to try and catch the rest of it in his mouth. Pat lets his hand drop to his side as he shivers, glancing down. He tries to wriggle his brain in order to say something.

"Your teeth are so fucked," Pat murmurs, panting hard. Darby looks up at him, eyes big and saucerlike, waiting for whatever's happening next.

He snaps his fingers in front of him and Darby scrambles to turn around, crawling away and stopping. Pat steps forward with as much determination as he can muster and shoves Darby's face into the floor, hearing the loud clack of his teeth as his chin hits the floorboards and muffled curses as he wriggles around. He shoves his own pants down to his knees, Darby rolling onto his back as his hands fumble at his belt and zipper. Pat helps him before pulling Darby's legs around his waist and slicking himself with some spit and pushing in with little hesitation, immediately working on fucking him. He hears himself sigh as Darby's body arches up off the floor, biting his lip as he listens to the noise he's causing. A strangled laugh followed by a whine followed by an ascending series of moans that creep up and up and up to borderline girlish territory, nails stinging as they dig into Pat's shoulderblades. Pat's arms tremble as his body crunches down, Darby's legs at his shoulders as his belt thwacks him on the arm with every thrust, the buckle clinking. They're fucking like animals on the filthy floor of the most popular club in L.A. and anybody could walk through the room, but they don't care. They've never cared. The air is stiflingly hot, practically burning, and Darby suddenly grips around seared skin and howls as Pat finds a whole new way to slam into him. Pat chokes out "Darby,", squeezing his eyes shut as an atom bomb of white and fluorescent yellow sets off behind them. He can hear Darby gasping like he's just emerged from some massive body of water, blood banging through his ears as his vision flashes black to red to yellow to white to spotty hazes. He opens them after the ringing subsides, blinking in a daze, feeling pricks of pain on his back. Darby's fingertips are smeared with blood and there's cum all over his stomach.

He looks lazy and sleepy, his eyelashes wet. When Pat pulls out and sits next to him, legs apart, he lies there before smudging an arm over his face.

Pat's mouth tastes like he's just bit his tongue. The light above them is still flickering.


End file.
